The ball pierced the brain and killed the brute instantly, but did not
stop the headlong flight of it, and before Ted could step out of its
way, it struck him with the force of a locomotive. As he went to the
ground, the dead steer fell on top of him.
Ted's fight with the steer had been seen, and across the prairie two
flying figures simply split the air. When they reached the side of the
prostrate steer, they flung themselves to the earth and flew to the
rescue of Ted. One was Stella and the other was Bud.
"Is he dead?" asked Stella breathlessly.
"I reckon not," answered the cow-puncher, who, secretly, was very much
afraid he was; he didn't see how Ted could help being dead, having been
charged by a steer, and having gone down beneath its weight.
He was struggling like a demon to lift the heavy animal from Ted's body.
The bulk of the steer was lying across Ted's chest, whose face was black
from the congestion, so that Stella dared not look at him.
"Pump yer gun fer all it's worth," commanded Bud, in a rough voice.
"Keep shootin' till yer bring 'em on ther run. We've got ter get him
from under this steer soon, er he'll be all in."
Stella had snatched her Winchester from the boot of her saddle, and
fired it in rapid succession into the air until the magazine was empty.
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